Clandestine
by Elphaba-Rose
Summary: After burning Princess Nastoya's body and coming home to find Apple Press Farm eerily abandoned save for the old goat and Candle's emerald baby girl, Liir reflects on his family and the road ahead. Short drabble.


A.N: I was awestruck with the ending of 'Son of a Witch', and, I must admit, a little disappointed. There were so many things left untied; the whereabouts of Nor, Candle and Trism to say the least. But I was still amazed. I loved it, and felt I had to write something, even if it is just a little drabble. The plot Bunnies attacked and wouldn't let go. So, here is a little something based on the after events of Candle's pregnancy, and Liir's feelings.

Disclaimer: Do not own. Don't sue. Won't get.

Son of a Witch

Clandestine

He gently rocked the basket with his foot, whether to genuinely ease the child to sleep, or to feel some sort of connection with the one he hardly dared to call mother, he wasn't sure. If anyone asked, he knew which excuse he would give. But he mustn't be fanciful. There was no one here to question him, save for the child mewling softly for her own amusement.

He briefly wondered about the girl's mother. Surely with her gift of reading the present, Candle would have known he would be on his way back, to her, to her baby. There were so many questions he couldn't answer, and he didn't think he would ever find the solutions. There were just some mysteries that weren't meant to be found out. He would never know his parents.

The little girl let out a content sigh and his eyes wandered to her emerald skin. It burnt, so familiar, and so offensive at the same time. Some would think this child as proof enough. But he wasn't even sure if he did father her, he certainly couldn't remember. He recalled straining against the lust, suppressing the urge to take Candle into his bed. But he couldn't remember ever committing the deed.

Was this some twisted form of revenge? Did the Quadling believe this would be punishment for his trysts with Trism? He didn't think so, Candle didn't have a malicious bone in her tiny, delicate body. But then why leave? He didn't even know why he cared. He had thought he had loved her, but at first he thought he had loved Trism. He didn't know what love was anymore.

Had the Witch loved? Had she loved his supposed father? He assumed so, if the Witch was capable of such feelings. She had always liked Chistery best. Somewhere inside him, Liir believed Elphaba had loved Fiyero, and the Lady Glinda too, in that icy chasm heart of hers. He wasn't sure how he knew. Possibly because he felt no fatherly feelings for the child in the basket, despite her unsavoury skin tone, yet he once had feelings for both Candle and Trism, a man and a woman, possibly just like the Witch.

He wondered how Elphaba's birth had been received. She rarely spoke of her life at Shiz all those years ago, and never of the years before that. He knew there had been no mother after Shell, only a distant, acerbic father. He knew there had been jealousy on Elphaba's part, the longing to be loved how Shell and Nessarose had been loved.

Shell. The name made him shiver. There was so much doubt surrounding his family, Liir felt too much contempt to call him 'uncle'. A part of him wanted to track the Apostle down, demand answers. But the little girl whimpered and the moment was quashed. He had her to look out for now, whether he was her father or not.

Peering into her blue eyes, he questioned where they came from. Neither he or Candle had such eyes, eyes that seemed to reflect the sky and all the troubles it had seen. He shook his head, silly. Babies are too innocent to reflect the world's problems. He wondered if Fiyero had had blue eyes, but with his Arjiki background, Liir doubted it.

He came to a decision. Once the baby was well again, once her corpse-like flesh had warmed sufficiently and her stomach satisfied, he would find her mother. He wasn't sure exactly where he would start looking yet, but it was better than sitting here waiting for world's end. And once the child was back where she belonged, he would set out to find Nor.

Some ludicrous, childish part of him wondered if Nor had had some weird premonition and scrawled 'Elphaba lives!' on the walls of the Emerald City in response to that. But it was foolish. He could remember Nor well, she had never claimed to see any glimpse of the future, however small. She could not know she possibly had a little green half-niece curled up in front of the fire at Apple Press Farm. And that was only if the baby really was his.

He supposed he wouldn't know until he found Candle. Perhaps he could figure out exactly what love was on the way. It was frustrating, to say the least. He longed to see her again, to scoop her up into his arms and hear the sweet tones of Qua'ati once more. But whether that had stemmed from love he couldn't say. Maybe that would change once he found her.

He glanced back at the baby. She was finally settling down to sleep, snuggling in the warm scratchy sheets he had commandeered from his and Candle's own bed. She was a pretty thing, having inherited nothing else of Elphaba's features besides her cursed skin as far as he could see. Her face already resembled Candle's, but it was with a start he saw the little tufts of shiny black hair were Elphaba's too. He supposed only time would tell if she had inherited Elphaba's flair for magic and sciences also. He certainly hadn't, maybe the talent skipped a generation, just like the skin.

But in the meantime, she'd have to have a name, and it was with a sinking, fleeting feeling he couldn't name her anything else. He wondered if it was some weird testimonial to the Witch he didn't want to admit to. Maybe he was being unoriginal, maybe he was finally accepting her as his mother, he didn't know. There were so many things he was unsure of.

He had too many responsibilities now to go and overthrow the Apostle, family or no. He wondered if Elphaba had felt this torn when she had left to fight the Wizard. But she had ended up a bitter and broken woman after the death of Fiyero. He didn't want his life to have the same spin, but he realised it was already on the way.

He had lost Candle and was left with a nameless, parentless innocent, just as Elphaba had been left with Liir. He had no fatherly feelings for the baby, just as she had no motherly feelings for him. With a repressed shudder, he briefly considered who to curse. Shell for not realising Liir was his nephew and abandoning the spirit of his sisters? The Unnamed God for ravelling out this fate for him? Or Elphaba, for forsaking motherhood and Liir himself?

It was with caustic feelings he realised he probably didn't believe in any of them. He had never loved Elphaba, but wished he had. Maybe then he would feel more obliged to care for the baby before him. He supposed the paternalistic instincts will emerge as the child grows, or he hoped so. He sighed and wiped her hair out of her face. She made a small carefree noise at the back of her throat in response to the calloused touch of his fingers.

He allowed himself a small smile. He doubted Elphaba had been anything like this at birth. He believed her to be stubborn and fiery right from slipping between her mother's thighs. A smug part of him decided to stick with the child's name just to spite her. But another part, the parentless part of him, longed for her to be proud, to finally feel something along the lines of motherly love for him. But that was absurd.

His eyes burned in the light of the fire, but this time his throat constricted and he suddenly found it hard to breathe. He missed her a little, and was scared to admit it. He hadn't thought about her so much since her death. But there was no time for that now. He would return the child to her mother, he would find Nor, then, and only then, he would decipher his family tree.

He pulled the basket closer and curled up around it, watching her as she slept. Her breathing was light and made him tired, so he didn't fight it. Nor did he fight the hand that reached out and grasped her tiny one, smooth and lukewarm within his palm. He wasn't sure if this was an attempt to get closer to her, or his mother. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. His breath was a hiss, snaking its way into the night like one of her spells, buried underneath the crackle of the fire in the hearth, and the splash of water in his mind.

"Goodnight Elphaba,"

The End

A.N: I am very much aware this possibly shouldn't end here, but it was only a small plot Bunny, and he only gave me a few ideas. They'll probably grow but whether I act upon them is doubtful. Hope you enjoyed, please review, thanks.


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